


The Sounds of....

by Lynnenyx



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynnenyx/pseuds/Lynnenyx
Summary: Merlin lost his eyesight temporarily.-and my English is poor. XP





	The Sounds of....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlfieW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlfieW/gifts).



Merlin has lost his eyesight.

Not permanently, his blindness was caused by a violent flash from an explosion, but he isn’t young any more, it’s natural that he will recover slower than those physically superior knights. On the other hand, this sick leave is a rare holiday that he hasn’t enjoys for quite a long time.

The sound of running water wakes him. Merlin reaches out to his left, only to discover that the other half of their bed is already empty, with a thin layer of fading temperature. He went to bed alone last night, apparently the quartermaster of MI6 was caught up in some tricky missions. Q wasn’t home until midnight. Merlin could feel the mattress slightly sank when the younger one lay down beside him. It seemed that Q was trying his best not to disrupt his dream, just curled up under the blanket with exhaustion overflowing out of his body. Merlin sighed without a sound, gently got close to him, and pulled him into his arms, satisfied with the way this small back fits into it his embrace perfectly, then felt the muscles gradually relaxed.

Now he is up, cleaning himself up in their bathroom. Merlin finds out that the scenes he can pictures just by listening to all these familiar noises are even more vivid than those he saw with his eyes. Q is brushing his teeth without his glasses, his severe short sight and drowsiness force him to narrow those greyish green eyes, while the messy curly hair bouncing with every movements of his head, like a cotton candy in the breeze. Soft and adorable without any doubt he is. Usually Merlin will brush through his hair, fingers stray in his rich ebony locks, and maybe he will plant a kiss on them. Their sights will meet in the mirror, glue together before separate again. Sometimes Q will try to start a small talk with his mouth full of minty bubbles, which sounds like he is just mumbling to himself.

The compensation of senses seems reasonable enough. Merlin is sure that he hears the rustle of clothes stripping off from someone’s body after the shower is on, what comes next is the citrus scent of Q’s shampoo - hot, bright and succulent, makes him smell like a teenager who lives on sweets and tropical fruits. Bubbles slide down from his pale torso, and eventually disappear into the drain spinning. For a few times they showered together, crowded the tiny bathroom of this old apartment, limbs bumping each other’s. Water would tame Q’s rebellious hair, his hung down eyebrows made him look like a cat that fell into a river. This young man is thin, peaked even, keeping an adolescent-like posture wildly differs from Merlin’s in his late twenties. The elder will be lost in his own thought as his hazel eyes tracing down the other’s shape. Q will shove his broad shoulders and makes his best effort to hind his blushing cheeks. There were a couple of times that the baths became tender andante sex, a transient runaway from their breath-taking, life-threatening jobs. After that Merlin would head back to the headquarter with the same citrus fragrance, make the agent who was closest to him frowned.

Q must have left the bedroom door open, because Merlin can hear the cats wandering in. The thought of them sitting and waiting outside the bathroom makes him smile in spite of himself. They have been keeping Q’s company for years, long before the quartermasters knew each other. Although Merlin spends a lot of time with puppies in Kingsman’s canine training center, the cats like him. They rub their cheeks on the magician’s woolen trousers, curl their tails up around his ankle, and occupy his kneels while he’s sitting. ‘Ungrateful creatures.’ Q rolled his eyes, then peeled them off from Merlin, buried his face into one of those fury bellies, muttering about something the elder didn’t understand. His eyes flickered like felines behind glasses, creating an illusion that there were three cats in the house.

Shower’s off. Fabric kisses one’s skin. Merlin realizes that he is indulging himself in these simple senses and imagination, as if they are just an ordinary couple living together and this is just an ordinary Sunday morning. Surrounded by vapour, the younger one is wiping his hair, fluffy towel dries his skin and caresses every pores. He doesn’t mean to use the blower, which rises a sweetness in Merlin’s heart, broadens his smile.

Q sends out the cats in order to keep them from waking Merlin, unignorable tenderness in his words. 

When he hears him walking into the kitchen, another sigh slips out of his lips. Door of the fridge opens and then closes again, paper bags rustle, button of the toaster clicks. An egg is broken into the pan, sizzles excitedly and rapidly turns into white. The crispy golden edge rolls up like the lace on a girl’s skirt. Bacons dancing in the crack of boiling butter, fill the room with home-cooked-food aroma. Q cooks in a strict and orderly way, which tells a somehow premature childhood more or less. He strips off all his thorns, what’s left is a tender, throbbing core, like the milky inside of a clam. There was a time Merlin came back from a narrow escape, covered by a brutal scent of gunpowder and blood. He caught Q making omelettes, failed to hold himself back and pushed him toughly to the wall, thrusting into him without saying a word. Their silhouettes became black in the setting winter sun. ‘I’m here.’ The young man said repeatedly, arms surrounding his neck, ‘I’m here.’

Chinas and cutlery clang. The bread is toasted appropriately, Q likes it with marmalade while Merlin prefers a proper amount of butter. 

He hears him talking to the cats once again when he opens a can for them, or maybe just humming a piece of random melody. 

Somewhere in Merlin’s heart melts and becomes a tepid, gushing spring. That soft spot that no one has ever reached before except for Q is uncovered, repaid him with the most honest and barest tenderness.

Boiling water screams in the kettle, seconds later comes the fragrance of Earl Grey. The combat commander of Kingsman likes coffee, but who can say no to a cup of tea made by his loved one?

Q is never a man with honey on his tongue, and Merlin seems to born restraining, yet each moment they spend together is beyond poems in any languages.

Merlin cannot wait anymore, he opens his eyes. His eyesight is blurry, full of flocky vague lumps of colours, but still way better than the complete darkness he experienced in the last two days.

He sees Q walking in with two steaming mugs. 

‘Morning, Merlin.’ Q says.

 

-fin.


End file.
